Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Tom: A Sky Full of Stars

The storm had caused a widespread power outage.

Which was just great. Especially since it was the hottest week of the year so far.

Most of the inner city still had electricity, but your home—on the edge of the suburbs—was completely powerless. On the flip side, the storm had done extensive damage to dozens of other buildings, while your house survived with nothing more than a few lost shingles. So you weren't going to complain. Not too much, anyway. Things could be worse.

You threw the top sheet off of your body (the comforter had been discarded hours ago) and sat up. Even wearing only a tank top and shorts for pajamas, you still felt like you were in a broiler. With a bothered groan, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the floor to the open window.

Air! I need air!

The heavy cloud cover had cleared since the afternoon, leaving a beautiful clear night. A soft breeze rustled in the trees. A sickle moon hung in the sky, amidst myriads of twinkling stars. You stared up at them, mentally tracing the constellations you knew. Astronomy was one of your favorite studies growing up; even now, you loved nothing more than to lay out on a blanket, away from the noise and glare of the city, and bask in the starlight.

Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea at the moment. Any stress relief was welcome at this point. Between moving to a new house, joining a prestigious law firm, constant studying to keep up with the latest laws, and taking care of your aging parents, you could use a break.

You weren't going to be able to go back to sleep in this heat. Plus, you had a new book that you hadn't gotten a chance to read yet. So you pulled a light robe over your nightgown, grabbed the book, and silently made your way downstairs, grabbing the battery-powered camping lantern from the hall closet before going out to the back porch.

It was cooler outside, much to your relief. The sky was ablaze, like it never was when the city lights were all aglow, like a dense forest on fire.

The grass was still wet, so you settled for watching the stars from the porch swing. It swayed in the slight breeze calming your frazzled nerves. It was so tranquil; a stark contrast to the insanity of your recent life, and more specifically this afternoon. Listening to the sound of crickets chirping, you clicked on the lantern (blinking a little in its harsh white glare) and began to read your book.

You were hardly three sentences in when,

"(Y/N)?" asked a sleep-slurred voice behind you.

Startled, you looked up to see Tom standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at you through bleary eyes. His t-shirt and sleep pants were rumpled. He looked cute, all disheveled and blinking in the lantern light.

"Hi, Tom." You smiled softly. "What are you doing up?"

He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "I heard the door open. Wanted to make sure you're..." —he yawned adorably— "...okay."

Immediately you felt guilty. Tom was just as tired as you were. He'd spent all week filming around the weather. His directors were on a schedule and had to get as many shots in as possible whenever the elements allowed, and sometimes even when the elements didn't allow it. The results were rushed shots that seemed too, well, rushed, and had to be redone, as well as takes that were flat out ruined altogether. Some scenes had to be postponed indefinitely. It was a long, unpredictable, frustrating week for cast and crew alike. That wasn't even including flying from location to location, and driving for hours to the areas planes couldn't reach. Tom was exhausted.